The Patter of Feet
by Acharion
Summary: After Gandalf's fall, could an Elf and a Dwarf possibly begin to understand one another? Complete!
1. Chapter 1

These characters are obviously not mine. The great Professor gave us a fun world to play in, so let's play!

Please, I would love comments on what I'm doing right as well as what I'm doing wrong. Just let me know!

They sat in a circle. Eight, when there should have been nine. The Ringbearer and his servent sat close together staring blankly at the surrounding landscape. Pippin, at least, had fallen into sleep, while his cousin Merry stroked the curly head sadly. Aragorn's legs were stretched out in front of him and his hands were palm upwards on his thighs. His face was unreadable but he looked distinctly "unkingly" at the moment. Boromir sat a bit away from the group, his back turned to the rest of the company. He was muttering to himself again, as he often did. And then there was the dwarf. His very presence was an annoyance to the elf in this time of grief. He had that accursed book on his lap. Not open, not even bothering to read the thing. No, just running his fingers over the crackling edges as if his touch could absorb some knowledge from the ancient tome.

Legolas sighed. Of course the hobbits needed rest and a break from their grueling pace since leaving the mines, but this inactivity was quickly fraying his nerves. The orcs would be closing in and the feeling of pursuit when there was little that could be done was galling. At the very edges of his hearing he thought that he again caught the whispering patter of quiet feet from the way they had come. How long was Aragorn going to let them sit here? Had their new leader descended so far into his grief that he was heedless of the danger? The elf clutched his bow hard and took a steadying breath to calm himself. Long years of patrols had taught him patience, or at least how to fake patience, and to have faith in his commander.

His eyes strayed back over the company. None had moved, save Gimli, who at least had the decency to be looking at the ancient book he held now. "You should have let it lie, Dwarf," he thought miserably. Precious moments had been wasted rifling through the pages when they could have been looking for an escape. There had been no point in examining it then as far as Legolas could see. I had seemed clear from the moment they'd entered Moria that something grave had befallen the Dwarves. A shudder ran down his spine. Balin's grave could have easily become their grave. If they hadn't delayed then perhaps...

Legolas's heart clenched. No, he would not mourn Gandalf now. They would be under the eaves of Lothlorien soon, and then he could grieve. Until then he would harden his heart and look towards duty. Over time he had seen so many friends and comrades cut down by the enemy, why should this be any different?

But yet, something else was bothering him. Some memory from within the mines, mines that had become a tomb. It wasn't only the loss of Gandalf that made his heart ache.

It came to him then so swiftly he was at first unsure what to make of it. It had been the sight of the dwarf's sorrow at the tomb of his kin, head bowed against Balin's grave. There was a certain familiarity in the actions there.

There was a glade in Mirkwood that only the royal family visited now, where trees had been planted for his Grandfather and his mother and his brother when they had died. How many times had Legolas kneeled with his head bowed against their trunks in the same way that dwarf had done against the crypt? The trees. He could see them in his mind. Oropher's the greatest 3000 years old, now a mighty oak even compared against all the other tress in this forest. His mother's tree, 2000 years old and beautiful and shapely as he imagined she had been. Mallendraug, their Golden Wolf' tree, only a sapling in comparison. He had died too young, long before his time. Legolas had spent many dark hours alone in that glade trying to discern some reason behind the senselessness of their deaths, some pattern that would ease the burden of his family's loss.

But he knew that was not the only reason the memory was so stirring. On his patrols, how many times had Legolas stooped over the bloodless bodies his fallen companions beneath the darkening boughs of his forest? Soldiers and friends and kin they had been to him, immortal lives cut short by the growing evil that lurked at the borders of their homeland.

Legolas ground his teeth in frustration. He would not feel despair at the death of those dwarves. They were the ones who had mined Moria past its limits and had stirred the evil of that dark place. However glorious Moria might once have been it was nothing but a shell of its former glory now. Gandalf's final words would perhaps have better served the dwarves that had awoken that long sleeping evil. They should have flown before their own hammers sealed their fate. The stubbornness of the dwarves had once again disastrously altered the course of Middle Earth.

And yet a shadow of doubt crossed his mind. Was it folly to not flee when the growing shades of evil pressed in around you? Was it not only the stubbornness of the elves that kept Mirkwood from falling into the clutches of Dol Guldur? Their home was also beset by darkness and the elves did not flee, nor would they while strength was left to them. Legolas felt his stomach lurch. Moria was only a shell perhaps, but if so, then what was Mirkwood? His home shared little in common with the kingdom Oropher had strived to establish. He had labored most of his adult life to cling to the precious memory of once glorious Eryn Galen, so that one day it might be restored. It was an uplifting thought, but as the years had passed, it had felt more like an impossible dream. Every spider attack and every retreat had felt like sand slipping between their fingers. If the Quest should fail, then Mirkwood would fall. And what hope did the Quest have without Mithrandir?

A cold wind pulled him suddenly to the present and he noted with annoyance that he was the focus of Gimli's attention now. The elf narrowed his eyes in attempt to rid himself of the dwarven gaze. They had glared across camp at one another many times before this night. But this time, beneath the deep seated hatred of one another, Legolas was shocked to see his own grief and loss mirrored in the dwarf's eyes. Pity and a deep understanding shuddered through him at that moment. Startled and exasperated with sitting still any longer, the elf clutched his bow and rose swiftly to his feet, not breaking eye contact with Gimli as he did so. This at least had the effect of stirring the Company slightly.

"Master Dwarf". His tone was harsher than he had intended. Aragorn looked up wincing, seemingly pleading with Legolas to not act on his animosity now. Even Boromir had ceased his muttering and turned to see what would unfold, a scowl marring his noble face.

Legolas clutched the grip of the bow while struggling to tame the whirlwind of emotions he felt. The familiar touch of the wood was comforting, reassuring and a reminder of the home he loved. The scrutiny of the entire Fellowship was upon him. Even Pippen had stirred from his sleep and was watching with fearful and expectant eyes. There could be no turning back from what he intended to say. Breathing deeply, he spoke again, and this time his voice was softer, not much more than a whisper above the wind.

"Master Dwarf, I am sorry." after a pause and difficult swallow he continued "I am sorry for the loss of your kin, and the loss of their home."

Utter silence fell over the group. Pippen looked as though he thought he might still be dreaming, Boromir's scowl deepened, Aragorn's eyes went wide and Sam's mouth dropped open. Gimli didn't answer, or acknowledge any of the others, but the raise of his brow suggested that he was just as surprised as the rest. The look only lasted a moment before he narrowed his eyes again as if suspecting a trap of some kind.

Legolas swore inwardly at Gimli's distrust and anger flashed dangerously in his eyes. Accursed fool he was to think that there was anything to be gained by treating with the stunted, bearded naugrim that sat in their midst! The whole lot of that race could plunge into darkness and Middle Earth would be better off for it. It had been nonsense to see any likeness of that ruthless dark hole to the woodland kingdom of his home. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be Gimli, for his wretched kind's release of the monster that had robbed Middle Earth of Mithrandir!

Mithrandir. Antagonism and indignant scorn of the dwarf was usually a balm for his spirit, but tonight it only deepened the growing ache of grief in his chest. Unable to bear the heavy glances of his companions any longer, he spun on heel and turned stalking into the darkness, in search of pattering made by little bare feet.

A/N

One of the themes that Tolkien introduces is the loss of home. Every major character feels it: most obviously, if Suaron gets the Ring then everyone in Middle Earth loses their home. But there are more immediate threats than that. Aragorn fears for the North in Eriador, and his home in the South (Gondor) which Boromir also fears for. Legolas has been fighting the evil of Dol Guldur on his borders for however long. Gimli may not lose any homeland of his own, but he sees the loss of Erebor and of Moria in the past 100 years or so. Gandalf is a protector of Arda which is threatened. And in the final chapters of the LotR, the Hobbits find that the peaceful Shire is not how they left it.

Not to mention the Elves. If the One Ring is destroyed, then Rivendell and Lothlorien fall because they are protected by the lesser rings.

So mightn't this be something that Legolas could connect with in Gimli?

I'm of the belief that the Mirkwood elves would have more children than was common in other areas. Their sons were required to go to war, and thus, each elf might have had more children. This is how I explain the fact that Legolas had multiple brothers (hopefully to make appearances in future stories.)

I admit that this might be slightly AU because Tolkien did not write about any substantial halt in the Fellowship's journey between Moria and Lothlorien.

Just take it for what it is, and I hope you enjoy it


	2. Chapter 2

"We must continue on."

There were only the slightest movements of assent among the group.

"Strider" Pippin said timidly "Legolas is still gone". The stillness of the others seemed to indicate that they were thinking the same.

As if Aragorn hadn't noticed, and even delayed their departure hoping the elf would return quickly. Though Aragorn doubted that the sudden exit had as much to do with scouting as Legolas's wounded pride.

Usually the thought of leaving without Legolas would cause him little worry. But tonight orcs had followed them from Moria, he was certain of that. And the rest of the company might be hidden beneath the leaves of Lórien before the elfs anger had abated. And truthfully Aragorn had hoped that having an elf in their group, especially one of royal birth, would ease their passage into the golden wood. Although he had not shared his misgivings with the group, entrance into Lothlórien might not be easy in these darkening days.

Aragorn gazed out in the direction Legolas had moved off towards, the direction of Moria.

"I know, Pippin" Aragorn answered softly, breaking the silence. He turned away from the mountains and looked hard at Frodo. For not the first time in this day, he was torn. Legolas was a member of their company, and had become a friend. The thought of leaving one of their own behind when danger was so close at hand was hard to stomach. They had already lost one barely hours earlier and it would be grievous to lose another, especially if it was because of his choice. The weight of his decision weighed heavily on his heart.

Frodo returned Aragorn's gaze steadily, seeking his answer and guidance. Thankfully, that seemed to lay the solution clearly before him. The quest, Frodo's safety, and the Ring were all more important than a lone elf, no matter if he was one of their company. Aragorn could deal with the consequences later, but now there was no other choice.

"I know" he repeated. "But we can delay here no longer. I do not wish to spend this night exposed to any who might be following us. Legolas will find our trail and be behind shortly, I'm sure." he smiled at the hobbits who were now looking concerned, trying to soften the blow that they might be abandoning a member of their group.

Aragorn sighed inwardly. If the circumstances had been different he would wait. But their rest had already been too long. And he certainly hadn't foreseen anyone leaving so suddenly. And not even the Wise would have predicted the elf speaking to Gimli as he had. He still wasn't sure of the meaning of all that. If only Gandalf were here-

"I'll wait for the elf." a voice spoke from behind.

It was not what Aragorn had expected to hear, and certainly not from the person he would have expected. Turning, he saw that Gimli had already settled himself back down against a rock looking as unyielding as the stone itself. Indeed his pipe was already between his teeth and he was searching through his pack for pipeweed as easily as if it were a pleasant day that could easily be passed enjoying the sun, visiting with passersby. Boromir was staring at the dwarf wide-eyed, then began muttering to himself again trying to understand the complexities of the races other than men.

"It's no bother." Gimli replied to the odd looks he was receiving. "None of us should be travelling alone. And besides" he patted the short grass beside him and smiled, "The spot is already warm."

Aragorn opened his mouth once, then twice, as if chewing on the words that would not come at the moment. As chieftain of his people he'd lost more friends and companions than he cared to remember. And frequently he had seen the strange spell that grief could weave over a group in the wake of death. This, however, felt entirely outside his realm of experience. He wasn't sure what madness had overcome the company since leaving Moria.

"But, Gimli, you just said that none of us should be travelling alone." Merry said faintly, sounding just as confused as Aragorn felt.

"Ah, then you should see that there's no problem, Master Brandybuck" replied the dwarf. "I won't be travelling. I'll just be sitting here until the elf realizes what a fool he's made of himself and returns."

"Gimli, I don't think that-"

Gimli cut him off and held up a hand as though to stop the flow of conversation then continued packing his pipe. "Nonsense, Aragorn! I will be behind you with the elf shortly."

Boromir approached Aragorn and gripped his arm. "Let him stay if he wishes it," the man said urgently. "As long as Frodo stays here he is in danger. But one alone will be safer than nine—eight."

Aragorn swallowed hard, trying to calm his nerves. Boromir was reactionary at times, but in this he seemed to give good counsel. "Gimli, you can stay here. But wait no longer than half an hour and then follow our trail." He motioned for the others, and with a few backwards glances from the hobbits, they moved off into the night.

Darkness was falling but the fading light was not yet an issue for the elf. He'd stormed away from the clearing as soon as he'd realized the mistake in so much as speaking to the dwarf. Aragorn had called out after him to stop, but he had ignored the pleas and continued anyway. Legolas had scouted ahead or behind the group many times. If they moved on he would have no trouble finding their trail and catching them up. Admittedly this time was a bit different. In the past Aragorn had asked him to scout ahead instead of opposing it. And they weren't usually being trailed so obviously by orcs and... Whatever it was that was following behind.

The smells that the sharp wind carried and the stillness of the night were the most calming thing Legolas had experienced since leaving the suffocating air of the mines. No matter how cutting, there was still wind in the open land, and that was a comfort to be thankful for. The ground was too open for good concealment, but he darted swiftly from boulder to lone tree to patch of tall grass trying to discern where any danger might lie behind the group.

He saw nothing. The throbbing beat of drums had subsided long ago and now the land seemed to lay empty and quiet. It seemed odd that they had so swiftly and fearfully fled over these bare lands only hours before, flying from danger like deer on the chase. It seemed odd that it had only been hours instead of days. But despite the fact that there was nothing to be seen all around him, he could not drop the nagging feeling that there were evil eyes watching.

A sudden croak and the sound of flapping wings came from almost directly overhead, shockingly loud in the previous silence. Legolas instinctively dropped to a crouch, bow drawn, fearing the eyes of the enemy. The creak of his damaged bow was nearly louder than the sound. With almost giddy relief, he realized it was not one of the crebain that they had been so watchful for, and released and arrow straight into the neck of the duck that soared through the air. The shot changed the trajectory of the animal from a graceful flight to clumsy free fall, its wings uselessly flapping in the air. It hit the ground not twenty feet away from the elf with a heavy thud into the dirt.

Mood suddenly changing again, Legolas ground his teeth in frustration and sorrow. There had been no reason to shoot. It was a clear sign to any watching that someone was close at hand. The twang of the bowstring was loud enough for listening ears. Not to mention there was no use for a duck when they could not light a fire for fear of being seen. But most of all, the groan of his injured bow cut at heart. It had been all too easy to forget in the aftermath of Moria, but his bow would not be useful much longer.

His bow. He had watched the tree it was made from felled. It had been a gift from Mallendraug (must everything remind him of his fallen brother on this day?). In all his years of patrols, it had been only his second real bow. The first had been dragged from his hands and turned to mulch by the pincers of a spider. He could still feel the dread of that day, being left weaponless and defenseless while surrounded by enemies. His actions had been foolish and his father had chastised him in front of the entire court, but Mallendraug had smiled kindly and commissioned a new bow that very night. Since then, the weapon had become an extension of his arm and he had never left the palace walls without it by his side.

The leather grip of this bow had been replaced here and there over the years, but otherwise it had served him faithfully. The feeling of vulnerable nakedness that he had experienced at the loss of his first bow threatened to overtake him again.

Unexpected tears suddenly blurred his vision and he pressed his eyelids shut against them, bowed almost to the ground with grief. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience. If his shot had not faltered in Moria then perhaps Mithrandir might still be alive. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have sacrificed his life in Gandalf's stead. His weapon was ruined. Mirkwood had been trusted with this creature and had failed...for certainly it was Gollum that was following them. The confusion of what he had seen of the dwarf in Moria.

And the shot he had taken that could have revealed him to the enemy.

Legolas blinked away the tears. No, there was no use now in regretting the arrow he'd fired. A meal lay nearly at his feet, with a perfectly good arrow stuck in its neck. Slowly rising, he moved over to the dead bird. The wind was cool, stirring the cloak behind him like his own set of wings. Standing over the dead mallard, he could see that it was a clean shot. Blood pooled out from the neck darkening the ground and lifeless eyes stared back into his own. A brief prayer of thanks to the Valar and a blessing to the duck that would feed them that night was all that was needed now. The early sickle moon hung above him, illuminating the ground. "Oromë, we raise our voices..." before the murmured words could pass his lips, a light caught his vision and he turned swiftly.

Two pale, lamp-like orbs hung in the night not more than a stone's throw away. He stood motionless staring into the small lights, until they were suddenly extinguished. Legolas only hesitated for a moment before grabbing the duck, arrow still in its neck, and swiftly turning he ran to the glade where he hoped the company still rested.

The sharp, acrid smell of pipe weed reached his nostrils before he was even in sight of the clearing where they'd rested. Legolas frowned, wondering if the hobbits, or Valar forbid, Aragorn, was so foolish to be smoking when there were enemies close at hand.

Soundlessly swinging into a nearby tree, Legolas for the first time in hours felt the safety of concealment. Slipping from branch to branch he approached the glade until he was nearly on top of the reeking smoke. Only the dwarf was there, for more reason than one the last person the elf wished to see. He was sitting peacefully with smoke curling out his nostrils. Legolas frowned and was reminded of Smaug, the only dragon he'd ever seen, another of the dwarves' unwanted gifts to Middle Earth. For a moment he considered moving off silently in whatever direction the others had gone and leaving his least favorite member of the company for the orcs to find. It was an appealing idea, but the thought of explaining it to Aragorn was less alluring and he regretfully abandoned the notion. Unceremoniously he dropped from the branch landing nearly on top of Gimli. The dwarf sprang up in a surprisingly agile motion, coughing out a cloud of thick blue smoke and placing a hand on the haft of his ax but dropping his pipe.

"Where are the others?" Legolas asked sharply, ignoring the other's distress.

"What do you do that for?" responded the dwarf, ignoring the previous question and bending to retrieve his pipe.

"Where are the others?" Legolas repeated. "And why are _you_ still here?"

"They were tired of waiting for you." Gimli snuffed out a bit of smoldering pipe weed into the dirt with the toe of his boot. "And Aragorn thought it best if none of us were travelling alone, so I volunteered to stay and escort our prince to safety."

Legolas narrowed his eyes, a motion he was certain he'd done more since meeting the dwarf than in all his years previous, but the smug smile the dwarf was giving him was incredibly obnoxious. "Is that so?" he said, trying hard to mimic the incredulous look Thranduil might have donned when listening to his children's excuses for why they had not finished their lessons. "When Aragorn knows that I can track any creature in Middle Earth? That's what he said?"

"More or less." Gimli crossed his arms, ready for the imminent argument, but dropped them almost as quickly. "And I thought to ask you away from the others what you…what you meant by your earlier words." he finished more softly.

Would these dwarves ever learn to let things lie that should not be stirred? Any sympathy he'd felt before was dissipating rapidly and the growing dread of being followed was creeping back to the corners of his awareness beneath the anger. It was a shame he hadn't immediately gone back and extinguished those pale eyes for good. "It was a regrettable lack of judgment, obviously." He snapped and turned away before the dwarf could respond, looking for the tracks of the others in the dirt. Even the soft prints of the hobbits were easy enough to find. "We're being followed. We need to go" and jogged off in the direction the others had gone.

It was a few minutes before the heavy tread of boots caught up beside him. Gimli was puffing slightly with the quick pace. "Can you keep up?" Legolas said after a few moments, already wearied by the harsh breathing.

"Ha!" Gimli barked and the sudden sound in the stillness of the night made Legolas wince. "I should be asking you the same. A dwarf can always keep up." They ran for a bit longer before Gimli cut the silence again. "I thought you were scouting."

_Is he really trying to make conversation, right now? _"I _was_ scouting."

"Looks more like you were on a hunting trip" said Gimli, nodding at the mallard that was tied to Legolas' pack.

"The opportunity presented itself." He replied shortly, annoyed not only at the dwarf, but also at himself for having taken the shot.

"Well, that is a shame." Said Gimli, breathing hard. "I suppose if this Golden Wood is anything like Rivendell we'll be well fed soon enough. But I doubt Aragorn will be letting us light a fire before then. A plump roasted mallard sounds quite appetizing right now. Ah, but you know what they say Legolas, a duck without a fire's about as useless as nipples on a breastplate."

"'As useless as'….What did you say?" Legolas stopped jogging to stare at the dwarf. Gimli continued on for a few paces before realizing his companion was behind him and he turned round to face the elf. They stood now in another clearing, trees blocking sight of the path they had just come from. Despite the trees the wind was picking up with whipping, biting force. It swirled around them sweeping away any other sounds and he felt as though they were standing on an island in the clearing, isolated from the world that surrounded them. Ignoring the argument for a moment, Legolas turned to look down their path. There was nothing. He could see no hanging orbs in the darkness, hear no pattering of feet. Lothlórien loomed ahead of them, not visible, but present with the dull roar of the wind in a thousand trees. It reminded Legolas of the phantom wolves that had chased their heels into Moria. He shook his head slightly to clear the thought and almost missed Gimli's answer.

"I said it's as useless as nipples on a breastplate."

Legolas frowned. "What does that even mean?"

"It means it's useless." Said Gimli furrowing his brows. "You've never heard that?"

"No. I've never heard that. It's stupid." replied Legolas flatly.

"It's not stupid" Gimli countered. "Though I suppose your kind is often more fond of flourish than function. I didn't have much chance to speak with the smiths in Rivendell, so maybe elvish armor is decorated thusly. But my folk would say that such ornamentation is foolish. I suspect that if you'd spent any time in a forge you would know that already."

Legolas felt his temper flaring and the hairs on the back of his neck rising. "I've spent time in a forge. I've spent plenty of time in a forge" he snapped. It wasn't exactly true. He'd been in forges plenty of times but hadn't been tempted to linger. "Besides, I prefer to spend my time above ground rather than in a stinking, deafening fire pit."

He had barely spoken the words when Gimli's eyes became angry coals that had suddenly sparked into flame.

_"Khazâd ai-mênu!_" He growled and pulled a throwing axe free from its holder. It sailed through the air, a glittering deadly force in the moonlight.

First shock, then rage filled Legolas. He dropped to a defensive crouch, but noticed with amusement that it had not been necessary; the dwarfs aim had been off and would have missed him anyway. His mind raced and quicker than sight he strung an arrow and drew, aiming at Gimli's throat. As if the dwarf deserved such an easy death. Their kind was wicked and traitorous. That he should have flown into a rage over such a harmless comment was absurd. The bow groaned with the force of his pull. Let it break, Legolas thought. Should it shatter while taking the life of this murderous wretch then it would have served him well. And when the dwarf was dead he would happily return to the others, blood on his hands and let them know the truth of the turncloak that had walked among them.

In less than a second all these thoughts passed through Legolas' mind. But just before he let his arrow fly, he was assailed by the sick noise of crunching metal behind him. He turned and watched in horror as an orc fell dead at the edge of the clearing, an axe planted through its helmet between two lifeless yellow eyes. It's arm was raised and an ugly clawed hand gripped a sharp black sword.

Legolas' breath came in ragged gasps, loud in the night that had abruptly turned still once again. He remained crouched on the ground gripping his bow, horror tightening his chest. How could he have missed the approaching danger? Even with the wind, he should have heard something approaching them. But had he not looked just moments before the orc had appeared and seen nothing in the darkness? He wondered if it was chance or some evil that had stirred the wind so much that it covered the sounds of the enemy.

When he had gone to scout, he was sure that there was nothing behind them. No sight or sound of orcs from Moria, only Gollum and his large pale eyes. "He sent them." He whispered, and a rose unsteadily, walking to the body of the orc. If that was true, that Gollum had seen him and sent the orc after them, all of the company was in danger. If this one had come then surely others would as well. It was only a matter of how far behind the rest of them were.

Blood covered the ugly face and the blade that had killed it. The haft of the axe was dark stained hickory, worn smooth by years of use. Gingerly, he pulled the blade free, and it scraped harshly over the metal helmet. He had been mistaken about the dwarf and the thrown axe. But he had still drawn his weapon and if he had hesitated a second less the dwarf would be dead.

He turned to look at Gimli, who was watching him coolly, with a curious expression, another throwing axe already in hand. He crossed the ground between them slowly and started to hand over the axe before thinking that he would never hand one of the elves on his patrol a dirty weapon. He bent and wiped the blood from the blade on the scant grass. He stood and when he returned the axe, he was careful to give it handle first.

"You saved my life." He said softly, trying hard to keep the shame from his voice.

Gimli nodded slowly and after taking the axe from Legolas' hand, replaced it in the holder hanging from his belt. "Aye. I suppose that I did."

"I didn't hear it…the wind…."

"Aye," Gimli repeated and stared hard into the darkness behind them. "If there are others the Company is in more danger than they realize. We need to warn them."

He turned away, leaving Legolas alone in in the darkness before he moved to follow the dwarf.

A/N

Gollum: bringing people together since TA 2463.

I'm late in getting this finished, but I was super excited about the Game of Thrones premier when I wrote most of it. You win the internets if you can find my not so subtle tribute to ASoIF. Usually I wouldn't put such an obvious cross-over in, but I don't think it's completely crazy

I love your comments and hopefully I'll have the third chapter up before too long!


	3. Chapter 3

A gentle rain fell on the Golden Wood. The air was fresh and clean and crystalline drops of water clung to every surface, intensifying the emerald grass to a sparkling carpet. An unseasonably warm breeze stirred the branches filling the air with the tinkling music of water. The sky swirled with blue-grey clouds, but unlike in the rest of the world, they seemed full of life and it seemed to those that saw them that they would soon pass away to reveal an even fresher sky than had existed before.

Many of the Galadhrim had taken to the trees for refuge, singing softly so that their sweet voices drifted on the wind, rising and falling with each breath of air. Most of the Fellowship had sought out the shelter of their pavilion, but a peculiar mood had captured Gimli and he wandered aimlessly under the trees marveling at this strange beautiful wood. Before this he had not thought that trees could be anything but tools to build bigger and greater cities. But the trees here seemed too alive to put an axe to, almost as though it would be putting an axe to a friend. Thus it was that he came to Cerin Amroth and its ring of white trees. Though he had not entered the tree tops since their meeting with Celeborn and Galadriel a sudden urge seized him and he began to climb the ladder that led to the upper branches. The climb might have been wearying, yet he felt that he ascended through a cloud of gold veined with white and tiredness was lifted from his limbs.

He passed many flets as he climbed, and from them he heard the sparkling laughter of the elves who called to the strange visitor to stay and sit with them. But he merely shook his head and continued his ascent. This was a time for exploration and excavation, not sitting in idle chatter. He passed many lanterns that glowed like fireflies in the night and after many long minutes he came to the final platform. When Gimli stood on the grey deck of the flet he felt like a mariner amid a sea of gold rather than a harsh sea. As he turned to the south, his breath caught to see the green city of Caras Galadhon rising high into the sky and he stared entranced for many minutes. As lovely as it was he felt suddenly that it was a poor vessel to contain the beauty of Galadriel.

Turning slowly around he found that the flet was not empty as he had originally believed. A lone figure sat at the edge of the platform on the Eastern side gazing outward. Gimli immediately recognized the greyish green of Legolas's cloak. Usually it concealed the elf from sight, but here its drab color stood out in stark contrast to the other colors that surrounded them. Apparently the same strange mood that had seized Gimli had struck the elf as well. A quiet and hasty exit seemed like the best option, but before he could leave Legolas turned towards him, face concealed in the shadow of his hood pulled up against the rain.

"You walk too loudly for me to have missed you, dwarf." His voice was soft, so quiet that Gimli might have missed it if the wind had been turned in another direction. To flee now might suggest cowardice, so Gimli slowly stepped forward across the platform. He looked up from the elf out to the sight before him, and between the gilded leaves he was startled at the stark contrast to the green city. The fertile landscape he had expected was not there; rather it was dark and shapeless, gathering to a black swirling fog in its midst. The gentle rain that covered _Lothlórien_ transformed over the land into a roiling storm occasionally shot through by lightning. The view swept away the feeling of peace that had entered his heart, and he was left with an unsettling despair. Was this Mordor they viewed now? He wondered that such darkness could been seen from the safety of such beauty. For several moments he stood behind Legolas, but when the elf made no move to speak he sat down with the elf at his left hand.

Legolas sat on the very edge of the flet, his legs dangling over the edge into empty air. His usual proud posture was now slumped slightly and he continued to silently stare out into the frothing, dark clouds. Between them, Legolas's hand covered a scrap of parchment, only the corners poking out from beneath his long fingers. Just as Gimli was beginning to think that leaving the elf in peace would be the best course of action, Legolas turned sharply to face him, and just as quickly turned away, hood dropping as he did so. At such a close distance, Gimli could see that the face of the elf was wet but not from the rain as his eyes were ringed in red. Legolas gave an aggressive sniff and swallowed hard followed by a moment of uncomfortable silence.

The quiet raged between them, battling for footing. Removing himself still felt like the best option, but Gimli overcame the temptation. Could he turn away now, when he had stumbled upon his companion (for if nothing else, Legolas was his companion on this journey) in distress? Reluctantly, he pulled out a scrap of linen that might have at one time been called white and thrust it in the direction of the elf. He could think of nothing better to do.

Gimli looked up and saw that Legolas regarded him coolly, deep blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. Usually Legolas would have ignored, or even been insulted by this show of amity but now, in this moment of dejection, he snatched it out of Gimli's hand.  
Rubbing his eyes and nose gingerly, Legolas muttered a breathless "Thank you."

The simple act seemed to break the spell that lay between them.

"You weep for Gandalf."

"Among other things."

A silence crept over them again, but this time it lacked the strangling quality that it had bound them before.  
"That is my home." It was a simple statement, but the emotion in the elf's voice was evident. "Those dark clouds, they hang over the Southern part of Mirkwood." A sudden spring of tears emerged from Legolas's eyes. "I've seen it close in. I've watched it descend and creep ever closer and take that which I love most. But not like this." He cleared his throat, trying to rid the emotion from his voice. "Never like this."

Gimli had his answer then. It was not Mordor that they looked upon, but the power of Dol Guldur. The journey that they had set out on suddenly seemed a thousand times more distant, when evil lurked so close. If this was only a part of the evil that Sauron could muster, what would Mordor be like?

Gimli turned his eyes down to the scrap of parchment that sat between them. During their brief conversation, the elf's hand had drifted and didn't hold it quite so closely. Between the barely covering fingers he could see that it was a portrait. Three women stood solemnly, but still smiling. Made from simple charcoal pencil it could barely be called anything more than a sketch. The middle one had dark hair, streaming down over her shoulders. Despite the roughness of the drawing, her eyes sparkled with love and kindness and her smile was warming. From what he could guess, the other two were young ones, barely reaching womanhood. They stared out of the portrait proudly, and their bearing reminded Gimli strongly of the warrior and prince who sat by his side. He had believed up until this moment that all the members of the Company were bachelors, chosen in part for their lack of connections to their former lives. But now he realized that Legolas has spoken little of his life in Mirkwood.

"You left children behind." He was unsure if it was statement or a question and awe crept into his voice.

Slowly, Legolas turned his head to look at the dwarf. Confusion clouded his eyes until he turned them down to gaze at the portrait that Gimli saw.

A mirthless spate of laughter followed and Legolas resumed his gaze on the swirling darkness before them. "No." he sighed. "I left my sisters behind. Deserted them, maybe. Eyrendis made it for me before I left. It's a copy of…some painting somewhere….I'm not sure." Legolas cleared his throat and straightened his posture. Carefully he refolded the parchment, now becoming damp at the edges, into neat quarters and tucked it safely away in his pocket. When he continued, his voice was flat and dark. "My father had all of them removed when my mother died."

"Aye." Gimli agreed. It was an odd revelation, he thought, and struggled to find a response. "It has been many years since we spoke of a Queen in Mirkwood."

The elf nodded wearily and spoke in a distant voice. "I was very young when she was killed."

Another silence followed. Somehow even less uncomfortable than the last time. The dwarf was surprised by the candidness and wondered if in his dark mood Legolas had lowered his guard. He wondered at the guilt and grief that tinged his companion's voice. The brazenness of the dwarven heart that subsided in Gimli roused him to speak again.  
"You could turn away, if you feel you have deserted them. We took no oaths when we began this quest. Return, if you wish."

He looked to Legolas for a response, but the elf said nothing. Instead his eyes clouded with tears again.  
"No, Gimli." The use of his name was not unrecognized by the dwarf. "No, there is no turning back for me from this place. I swore my bow to this quest because I believed that I could do more with it at the Ringbearer's side than at the side of my comrades. And there is no safe passage anymore between _Lothlórien_ and Mirkwood anymore."

A sudden sob choked out of Legolas and he leaned forward, gripping so hard at the wood beneath him that his knuckles were white. He bent over so far that Gimli feared he would topple over into the space that surged beneath their feet. "We have asked them for aid! But does it ever come? No! They have abandoned my people." Suddenly Legolas turned to him, emotion exposed raw and a dangerous light flashing in his eyes. "They have abandoned my people! We beg them for aid and the Galadhrim will not give it!" Legolas turned away again, trying to hide tears that were already apparent. "They say that they cannot give relief, but is it "cannot" or "will not"? It is will not, I say! Our borders are besieged by evil. Every year it creeps closer and every year I watch my companions fall as we lose footing against the strength that resides in that tower. This beauty, this peace that surrounds us now is a _mockery_ of the fear and suffering my people have endured. Not that I should be surprised," Legolas growled bitterly "for long have the Sindar been sacrificed for the protection of others. Perhaps I have not done what is best. But I have tried, while the Galadhrim has utterly deserted their kin to the North."

Gimli frowned at the sudden and unexpected outburst. "And yet you are here now. Speak with the Lady, surely she will send aid if you tell her of your plight."

"Nay." Legolas spat. "They know of our troubles. I will not debase my father or myself to beg aid from the unwilling." Gimli shook his head. Perhaps he had been too quick a judge of the elves on many things, but their stubborn and prideful nature was not one of them. Legolas breathed deeply a few times and when he spoke again his voice was softer and his anger had been replaced with sadness. The otherworldly calm of the elves had settled over him once more and Gimli mused that perhaps he not been wrong about the flightiness of elven emotion either.

"Forgive my harsh words, Gimli. I do not mean to disparage our hosts, for they have provided our company with shelter and I am grateful for it. I fear this long struggle has poisoned my heart with bitterness. And perhaps I speak unfairly, for I hear my father's words in my own. I know not what guards this place, but it does not protect us. For good or ill, our fates will be decided soon." He rubbed his eyes again with Gimli's handkerchief, less delicately than the last time. "In our isolation I forget that we are not the only ones who have lost much."

Gimli did not reply, but only nodded solemnly, his thoughts returning to Moria and the chamber of Mazarbul. It had been clear that all was not well in the Mines as soon as they had entered, yet he had clung to the hope that dwarves still remained there, that the once great kingdom still existed. Stumbling upon the Chamber had crushed those dreams. Never again would he speak to Balin and it hung heavy on his heart that he was tasked with delivering the somber news home to Erebor. He had said nothing to the others of his sorrow following the dreadful sight of slaughter, for their minds were too clouded with the loss of Gandalf. But in the hours that had followed, he had been doubly grieved. Legolas alone had acknowledged and seemed to understand the devastating hurt. The simple apology had surprised and startled him. The thought of the eyes of an enemy mirroring back his own loss still troubled him.

He doubted that any of the company had believed his ruse to stay behind and speak privately about the matter. But even if Legolas had brushed off his questions and deemed it a "regrettable lack of judgment", Gimli did not think it so. Rather it had seemed heartfelt, and at the very least sincere.

He was pulled out his musings by the elf's quiet voice. "You didn't tell the others."

"About what?" At his side, Legolas looked deeply uncomfortable and he twisted the handkerchief with an uncharacteristic nervous energy. Had it been fear that touched his voice? So it seemed that both their thoughts had turned to the events following their escape from Moria. Well, the unfortunate encounter between the two had crossed Gimli's mind a few times. "How can you be sure I didn't?" He asked, almost teasingly. He regretted it immediately though, for Legolas's brow furrowed and a cloud of uncertainty crossed his face.

"Aragorn would have said something, I think. You could have told them the heroic tale of how you saved my life, while I was threating yours." Legolas laughed mirthlessly. "I would have told them."

"There were other cares on their minds. I saw no reason to bring it up."

Almost too quiet to be heard, Legolas replied simply "Le fael." He was silent for a few moments before clearing his throat and taking a deep breath resolutely. "I…I would not have it always be thus between us. And for my part, I regret many words that were said since we began this quest. This grudge serves no purpose and has endangered us all. And-" Legolas swallowed hard against the pride that threatened to choke his next words. "And I would lay it aside if you would, for the sake of the others, at least." The elf went suddenly still and Gimli thought were it not for the wind stirring the blond hair his companion might have been carved from stone.

"Aye." He answered slowly. "I suppose I see no reason why the grudges of our fathers should stand between us."

Legolas exhaled in relief and nodded. No more words passed between them then and they sat with both sets of eyes considering the view.

Suddenly, Legolas sprang lightly to his feet and offered a hand his companion. "Come, Gimli. Let us leave this place then. While we are afforded peace I should aim to be glad of it and not dwell on that which cannot be changed." The dwarf accepted his hand and rose.

As they had talked, the rain had slowed and only occasional drops fell from the sky. The wind was warm and held the promise that the darkened sky would soon pass and the sun would be bright in _Lothlórien_ again soon.

Legolas turned once more to the blackened skies that covered Mirkwood. "When this is all ended, if we have been successful, then I will show you my home restored. And perhaps you will show me Erebor?" He added hopefully. "For although I have stood at the Mountain's feet I have never seen its halls."

"It would be my pleasure, Legolas," replied Gimli, bowing deeply.

"Thank you, Gimli. I would like that."

"As would I." said Gimli, smiling. "As would I."

"Beyond the river the world appeared flat and empty, formless and vague, until far away it rose again like a well, dark and drear. The sun that lay on _Lothlórien_ had no power to enlighten the shadow of that distant land.

'There lies the fastness of Southern Mirkwood," said Haldir. "it is clad in a forest of dark fir, where the tress strive against another and their branches rot and wither. In the midst upon a stony height stand Dol Guldur, where long the hidden Enemy had his dwelling. We fear that now it may be inhabited again, and with power sevenfold. A black cloud lies often over it of late. In this high place you may see the two powers that are opposing one to another; and ever they strive now in thought, but whereas the light perceives the very heart of the darkness, its own secret has not been discovered. Not yet." He turned and climbed swiftly down, and they followed him. "

Yikes. Way to be rude, Haldir. Judging on Mirkwood like that is not cool.

Anyway, I realized a while ago that there's a little missing scene here. If Mirkwood is visible from _Lothlórien_, then Legolas would surely stumble upon it as well. Or someone might mention it to him (though hopefully not as grimly as Haldir did). I thought about the first chapter of this story and this one separately and wrote chapter two as a way to connect them.

"Le fael" has the translation of "you are generous". It means thank you, but also a bit more than that.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
